Unknown
by palomino333
Summary: Runs from "In Purgatory's Shadow" to the aftermath of "By Inferno's Light." A month of isolation hasn't done Dr. Bashir well. Slash.


I'm not sure if this concept has been done before in fanfic (I'm not very experienced with DS9 fanfics), but I'm surprised that more wasn't done in the series with the possible effects of Bashir being locked up by himself for a month. I assume that this might be because it could be retreading territory already explored by "Hard Time" in DS9, as well as "Chain of Command" and "Frame of Mind" in TNG. Much of this fic was influenced by "Distant Voices."

I don't like the idea of a relationship between Bashir and Garak being portrayed as abusive. However, I will admit that their being a couple would very complicated due to socio-political, as well as personal, reasons. They care heavily for each other, but there will always be slight a distance between them, which gradually narrows as the events of DS9 progress. Hence, I mention Bashir's previous relationship with Leeta in passing, but don't have Garak arguing with him over it. Bashir having a thermal blanket for Garak was my own idea based on the latter's complaints during "The Wire."

Ziyal's meeting with Jake will be covered in a different fanfic. I think that their mutual love of the arts, as well as their closeness in age, would bring them together as friends. Her wearing her hair in a ponytail is more of a indicator that she's conforming to life on the station, rather than wearing it in a Cardassian hairstyle. Her conversation with Bashir about the Breen was more out of the fact that I thought that her past with the Breen was a missed opportunity in the series. I also tend to interpret Ziyal as having more of a brother/sister relationship with Garak due to their difference in age.

* * *

The bunk was narrow, and sparse, but it was better than the hard floor.

Julian sat with his knees raised, and placed his face into them with a groan. The room was freezing, forcing him to curl up into a ball. He supposed he could sympathize with Garak to an extent. He felt utterly disgusting, not recalling when, or even if, the Jem'Hadar had allowed him to bathe. It didn't much matter, now.

Boots were always thumping down the corridor, with authoritative shouts sounding. Occasionally, rifles sounded, or grunts and groans of pain came as someone was singled out to be beaten. Human, Klingon, Cardassian, Romulan, Breen…It didn't matter, so long as the selected victim was a solid.

He'd tried to punch through the door, and had left a good-sized dent in it when it had been flung open, and he'd been seized. Held down, Bashir had been beaten roughly about the shoulders and arms. Bruises were still healing along his limbs, and he realized that he'd been lucky not to have had anything broken.

Bashir had given up on wondering just what was going to happen to him. He was only fed once a day, though even that was pure speculation, being left completely void of any timepiece, and the light above him a perpetual sickly gray. He had figured at first that he had been intended for dissection, given his increased physical attributes. He'd managed to floor his Jem'Hadar opponent three times in that small arena before being knocked fiercely to the dust. Dragged off, half-conscious, he'd been dumped here, it seemed, to be forgotten.

He didn't want to think of dying, or of the past. He would go mad otherwise. Instead, he had paged backward through his trove of medical knowledge, with books dumping their contents open for him to inspect. It became a game of sorts, testing himself on what he could recall, but the novelty of it quickly wore off as time dragged by. Much of the time he'd tried to pass by sleeping or pacing about in the narrow cell.

The shadows and whispers weren't real. His parents walked by him, and deftly stepped over him, asking why he hadn't achieved more. Jadzia appeared often, holding out a hand of cards, and gesturing for him to come play. O'Brien whispered in his head that he would be waiting on the holodeck for him. For the current moment, however, the sense of adventure was replaced with a sense of sickness. Leeta knelt beside him with a concerned expression, and her hand on his forehead, when he felt as if he was fevered for what seemed like a few days. Sisko's deep voice reverberated about him, asking where he was. Julian had responded twice, much to his own embarrassment, his voice growing more tired-sounding the second time. His own voice jolted him, as he had become unused to using it.

Garak, however, was different in appearance. Leaning back upon his arms, which were folded behind his head, Julian smirked up at the Cardassian that stood alongside his bed, regarding him quietly with those blue eyes of his. "Well, Elim, how do I get out of this one?" He asked with a slight smirk.

Surprisingly, Garak responded to him, turning his head to glance appraisingly over his shoulder at the door. "Well, I would say that you have already given it a shot."

Julian slowly shook his head. "Garak, you're not real. You've just given yourself away."

The Cardassian shrugged. "Your mind, doctor. You're getting tired."

Bashir nodded. "I know. Though I will say you're the most convincing of my hallucinations."

Garak tilted his head. "Would you rather be alone, with no one to talk to?"

"Technically, I am," Julian replied in a blasé tone of voice, "You can stay if you want. I don't much care."

Propping his elbow against the wall that flanked the nook where Julian's bunk was, Garak leaned his weight comfortably on it. He lowered a hand toward the doctor, who, after a few moments of looking at it, slowly took it. Garak's hand felt rough from his scales, and cold, though both were to be expected. Julian squeezed it once, though more out of a reflexive concern for his mate's comfort than much else. It earned him a smirk from the hallucination. "You care for me as always, doctor. I'm flattered."

"At the moment, it takes my mind off the situation."

Garak retracted his hand to reply with a hint of playfulness, "Despairing, doctor? Where is your boundless optimism?"

"Right now, it's being subconsciously channeled into you," Bashir replied plainly, sitting up on his palms, "Though I had hoped it would find a better outlet."

"Oh? You don't think I'd come for you?" Garak asked.

Bashir folded his hands. "Frankly, no, I don't think you'd come for me. You don't even know that I'm gone."

Garak laughed, and looked away from him. "And if I had the opportunity, doctor?"

Julian shook his head. "No." Elim turned his head back in surprise. "No, it's not real. This isn't real. I'm alone here," Bashir repeated the phrase quietly a few times, keeping his gaze from Garak, and willing him to go away. Garak, however, knelt beside him. "Oh, great, I can't get rid of you," Bashir muttered, running a hand through his own hair, "You're going to drive me mad."

Inconsistently, Garak appeared again to Bashir over time, standing over him as a plate of slop was tossed across the floor at him. "Rancid stuff," he'd commented once.

Bashir glanced up at him, his mouth already full. "You've probably had worse in the Obsidian Order."

Garak smiled knowingly, though Julian was disappointed, understanding that it would be impossible for the hallucination to supply the tale. However, he did reply, "I suppose it is an improvement over what you usually consume."

Julian smirked at his joke, but said nothing. Garak occasionally hovered beside his cot when he drowsed into sleep. On a few occasions, however, when the shadows and whispers grew too much, and Bashir half-curled upon himself against the wall, Garak's outheld hand appeared just before his knees. "Come on, Julian, get up. Sitting there will only make it worse."

Avoiding his hand, he stood, and brushed himself off, rubbing at his temples until the whispers subsided. Turning to look at Garak, he would give him a hollow nod, knowing that his will was slipping.

"Doctor!" His urgent whisper in Julian's ear caused him to swing his head up from where he had been fiddling with his hands to sit up straight as the door burst open to bang off the wall. A Jem'Hadar outside pointed into the cell, and another shouldered by him. The hallucination vanished as the Jem'Hadar lurched through it.

Dragged down the hallway, Julian watched the ghosts whisper past him, and turn to stare at him in a silent procession. Hands folded behind their backs, or holding out tokens (Leeta held Kukalaka), they whispered to him. Julian's heart pounded. Elim's blue gaze traced over him, and he thought he felt a hand on the juncture where his neck met his shoulder. Shouts from the Jem'Hadar in the alcove beyond sounded, and Julian closed his eyes as he willed himself to let go.

He stumbled, however, as he was jerked into a room full of people, and came face to face with Garak's utterly surprised expression. For a moment, Julian thought, that he had fallen completely into his madness, but the hand on his shoulder had disappeared, and the normally self-assured expression of his hallucinated version of Elim was nonexistent.

He felt utterly exhausted, and yet, there was just this one spot of relief to it, the door to reality creaking painfully back open.

XXXXXX

It was jarring how much Deep Space Nine's setting had brought a contrast to the prison. The vibrant colors were difficult for him to re-accustom himself to, as was the sound. Voices echoed over the promenade, and Quark's Bar was difficult to stand for the first couple of times due to the sheer amount of noise. He'd taken his recreation slower, burying himself further in making up lost work, specifically what his doppelganger had either ruined or filed in his name.

More than once, however, Julian drove his fist into his desk in anger and frustration whenever documents were found to be missing, or filled in with crude humor at his being a "solid." The assistants on staff were more patient, in his opinion, than he had any right for them to be, helping him sort through his work.

A nurse turned her head, and smirked. "You know, for a supposedly advanced life form, he was quite juvenile." Bashir grinned at that, and she added, "Glad to have you back, doctor." What disheartened him when she went back to her sorting, however, was that he hadn't exactly been missed.

"Are you all right?" O'Brien asked in concern as Julian sat down before him, a plate full to overflowing with food. He'd been abusing the replicator lately, due to having the luxury to choose what foods he wanted, rather than being fed slop once a day.

Bashir swallowed back a sarcastic retort at Miles's genuinely sympathetic expression. "Still adjusting, I suppose. I guess, in some ways," he moodily stabbed at his food, "it's not like I even left."

"For what it's worth," Miles began after a pause, "The changeling emulated the best parts of you. He was kind, and caring in how he acted." He shrugged. "He even called for an emergency surgery for the captain."

It was a small comfort to Bashir, but he cut his friend slack, knowing that he was only trying to help. "Perhaps it's better that we don't give him a eulogy," he replied jokingly, glancing about his room, "At least he didn't move anything." He noted that the thermal blanket he gave Garak to use whenever he stayed over remained tucked in the alcove of his closet. He should have known. He'd been accustomed to quieter periods in his relationship with the Cardassian, given his own habit of throwing himself into his work, and the occasional fraying of the bond of trust between them prompting silence. The changeling must only have emulated a surface social veneer with him only. Had Garak gotten himself into a compromising position with the changeling…Bashir didn't want to think about it.

"Agreed," O'Brien replied before changing the subject, "Julian, I was wondering if you wanted to play darts tomorrow night. We can set up the board at my place. Less distractions."

Julian grinned cheekily, and shook his head. "No, I think we'll need to play in the bar. Otherwise, I'd be worried that you would be afraid of losing in public."

O'Brien grinned back. "There's my lad."

XXXXXX

Whenever Julian apologized to him for waking him, Garak had to hold in a smirk. Feeling the stirring of his body against him, a hand releasing his, or the softest breath whispering, he would ever so gently relax his grip upon the doctor, and allow him to slide out. Usually, it was for a typical reason of relieving oneself, or getting a beverage, and his absence would be short. That was something to be thankful for, as the doctor's warmth was comforting.

However, this occasion was different. He could feel it in the doctor's increased pulse. His eyes opened as Bashir padded to the side of the bed, and stopped with a soft sigh. It wasn't a threat, though it was abnormal. He sat slowly up, shifting his weight carefully to not allow the bed to creak, and startle his mate. The thermal blanket was draped over his shoulders.

The doctor stood stark naked against the low, bluish light of the window he was looking out of. Beyond, the stars shone on in endlessly in a sea. Normally, Garak would have found the ethereal sight erotic, but the occasion was inappropriate. Bashir's gaze was unfocused, his lips parted as if about to say something.

"Julian."

Bashir's eyes gleamed from the charge of light direction as he turned on his heel. For a moment, Garak knew that the doctor was looking through him, as opposed to directly at him. He felt sick at the sight, as it recalled a few visions of the past, of Bajorans he had tortured with a similar, glassy gaze.

Julian's eyes slowly focused, and he seemed to come out of it, relaxing from what had once been a rigid pose. "Elim?" He tilted his head to the side, "You called to me?" Garak slowly nodded, and Julian rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry. How late is it?"

Garak shrugged. "Late enough, I suppose."

Bashir stumbled slightly, and caught himself on the edge of the bed. Tugging one knee in toward himself, he propped it upon the bed's surface. "I hope this won't get to be a habit. I have work in the morning."

"You already have your own new habits, doctor," Garak pointed out, his knowledge not coming as any surprise to his mate. His gaze narrowed, "And I take it that this has happened more than once, as well."

Bashir lowered his head in supplication. "I saw nothing for a month except four walls of concrete, and a cot. To be able to stare out into the vastness of space again is a luxury."

"Not a luxury, doctor," he raised his head at Garak's correction, "For you, it's once again a common occurrence." At Bashir's less than convinced expression, he admonished, "If your sense of reality continues to be warped like this, then the Dominion has already won over you."

Julian smirked. "You make it sound so easy."

"Oh good, then. I was just stating fact, actually, since you tend to romanticize the life of a spy so often," he replied with a slight sense of sarcasm.

Embarrassed, he replied, "No, there was nothing romantic at all, back there." The heaviness of his words, and the gaze he gave him, recalled exactly what he did not wish to think of, not like this. He hated exposing himself raw, and much less now.

Elim's hands drew back in toward himself upon the sheets, and felt as if he was cornered. He reacted in a primal manner to defend himself, despite who he was addressing. "And pray tell, doctor? Why did they isolate you? It couldn't be because you were actually a threat to them, hmm?" His words were tight, and he instantly regretted them. To the good doctor's credit, he was able to hide his enhancements well, his benign appearance kept up consistently. But he should have known that a former operative of the Obsidian Order could find his records.

He probably did. Julian, though he was many things, wasn't stupid. And perhaps he had just been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Most likely, Julian had wondered just what his lover would do to him with such information, and some part of him had hoped that Garak wouldn't turn on him with it.

Julian's eyes widened, and he drew backward, his arm bending, and leg hardening against the floor. Garak figured that, quite easily, the kindly doctor could snap his neck. In a terrified tone of voice that sounded close to tears, he uttered one word. "Please."

Garak slowly shook his head at him, and pointedly broke eye contact.

Julian sighed heavily, and sat up straight on the bed. "Thank you," he whispered.

"My dear doctor, what would be the point in exposing you?" Garak asked, patting his hand softly.

"It's another reason you sought my company, isn't it?" Bashir asked. Garak's lack of response served as a confirmation to his inquiry, and he chided himself on such an obvious question. Of course, it was. He shrugged. "I guess I should have known."

"Don't think of love as entirely selfless, doctor," Garak gently scolded. The next moment, however, he conceded, his voice growing hard, "Though, if someone should harm you again, I would have no compunctions about tearing the universe apart for your sake."

His fist clenched along the sheets. "Elim, where am I?"

A lock of Julian's hair fell loose over his forehead, and Garak reached out, brushing it away. His hand paused on his mate's left cheek. "Julian, you're with me, in your room. We're on board Deep Space Nine. I'm currently wondering how you can tolerate being stark naked in such cold." The aside remark earned him a smirk from Julian, who leaned into his touch.

It slipped, however. He knew it would. A former Cardassian spy wasn't exactly one to be trusted to offer solace. The politics of Earth didn't much hold Garak's interest, but he understood that Bashir's face, for as benign as it was, would be viewed as a reminder of Khan Noonien Singh's, should he be found out. But that was something the doctor had lived under the threat of for most of his life, and would continue to do so.

Although…

Somewhere, a closet door creaked open, framing a much younger Mila against the light. With a defeated sigh, she knelt before little Elim. "Locked you up in here again, didn't he?" She asked, casting a look over her shoulder. Turning back to him, she extended her hand. "Come on. I've kept your _zabu_ stew warm for you."

He didn't badger Julian for details over his life before Starfleet, and Julian hadn't done the same to him, either, though whether it was out of respect or racial prejudice, Garak hadn't been entirely sure at the beginning. As time went on, it was easy to determine the former as the answer.

He lowered his hand from the side of Bashir's face. "Why?" Julian muttered, half to himself. He turned his head, and laughed. "I saw you, even in isolation. My mind felt like it was fragmenting." He clutched Garak's hand. "I believe you, that I'm here, but it's fleeting." He realized that it must have a shade of what Miles had gone through, on Argratha.

"Which lie would you prefer me to tell you?" Garak asked, stroking his thumb over his hand, "That it will 'get better,' and you'll return to who you were? Or that it's just some long nightmare which is now over, and you're simply lagging, not wishing to leave the fantastical?"

"Neither, please," Julian replied, grateful for the candidness in his mate's tone. He turned his head, and Garak noted that he was looking at where his teddy bear, currently missing, used to be propped up on the nightstand. Charming little thing, that, if not a little childish, much like his doctor.

Possessive anger built up in him at that, but it was also subdued by his own tiredness. He wished to, at the very least, torment, or at the very most, murder those who had done this to Julian. It was pointless, however, and he was too tired to care. Not for the first time was he frustrated with himself that he hadn't managed to notice that the real Julian had been replaced for at least a month's time, but nothing could be done.

Tain, pale and exhausted, stared up at him from his cot.

Nothing at all, really.

In some ways, he resented Julian. In others, he pitied him. Yet, this was the same man who easily could have broken him in half when his withdrawal from his implant was driving him mad, but chose otherwise. Let alone his befriending him to begin with. A strange man, this one was, but aside from Mila, he was all who he had left. When Bashir turned back to look at him, he realized why Tain had confided in him that he should have killed Mila long ago. Julian, quite frankly, ensnared him with those eyes.

Bashir crawled over to him, and he lifted an arm from beneath the blanket draw him inside. Human skin had taken some getting used to, being of a softer texture, too soft, in Garak's opinion. He could feel Bashir's bones easily through it as he hugged him close to himself. Julian chuckled as he lay back down with him, his arm curled about Elim. "I think I'll regret this conversation in the morning. I've embarrassed myself enough."

"You saw me drunk in a full bar. I think I can let you get away with this."

Julian smirked. "I'm glad to have your approval, then."

Garak absent-mindedly combed his fingers through his hair. "I'm not exactly the man you'd wish to impress, doctor."

"Oh, shut it," Bashir mumbled groggily into his neck, the motion of Garak's fingers lulling to him to doze off.

XXXXXX

Tapping his fingers moodily upon the railing, Julian stared down at the foot traffic beneath the promenade. Tomorrow night, he would join O'Brien in the holosuite. Life would move on.

A skirt whispered over to him. "Dr. Bashir?"

He turned. "Ziyal?"

The young woman smiled sheepishly at him, a shoulder bag currently strung across her chest. "Could I join you for a few moments?"

"Yes, of course," he replied, though curious as to her intentions.

She propped her wrists upon the railing, and stared down over the promenade. "I can assume it's taken some getting used to," she commented quietly.

Understanding the context of her comment, given her unhappy past, he nodded his head. "Though I think you were braver than me in that case. You were kept against your will longer."

Ziyal shook her head. "Not braver, just more used to it, I suppose." She patted at the side of the bag. "My first few drawings weren't very good, to say the least." Noticing Bashir glancing at it, she explained, "I'm actually going to see Jake. He was wondering if I wanted to design the cover art for his manuscript, and I had some concepts I wanted to run by him."

He smiled at that. "I'm sure they'll look lovely."

She shrugged. "I'm not so strong at the technical part of it. Less like my father in that way, I suppose." She tilted her head, and pointed. "I wonder what she's reading?"

Bashir followed her finger, and noticed a Bajoran woman, her brown hair in a braid, leaning intently over a PADD. "Considering how she's hunched over it so protectively, I'd say it was a romance novel, probably a trashy one."

Ziyal snorted, and her eyes widened as the woman turned her head to glance up. "I think she noticed us." Turning to look at him full on, she continued with a shrug, "Even if it isn't published, Jake's manuscript will still be something that we have accomplished, I guess."

He nodded, pushing aside the memory of his own father's high expectations of him. Ziyal cleared her throat. "I probably shouldn't linger here long. You're a busy man."

He waved a hand. "Please, you aren't bothering me."

Tora gave a sigh of disappointment. "I appreciate the sentiment, doctor, but I expect no special treatment. If I am becoming a nuisance, please tell me."

Folding his arms, Bashir leaned against the railing. "Ziyal, what is your question?"

She nodded at his more honest tone. "I heard there was a Breen imprisoned with your group, yes?" Her words took on a slight venom.

"I didn't interact with him or her much, as I was in isolation, but there was. Had it not been for that individual, we might not be having this conversation," he replied plainly.

"I see…" Her voice trailed off, and she stared down at the banners trailing below.

"Ziyal?"

She shook her head. "That piece of the puzzle just doesn't seem to fit, however I turn it over in my mind." She slowly ran a hand over her face, her fingers brushing against the ridges from her mixed heritage. "Perhaps I have no place to talk, as I've dealt with my own share of prejudice, but I find it to be strange. Why would a Breen even be there, much less help? Unless there is something that I am missing."

"You're concerned?" Bashir asked.

She folded her hands. "Very much so. Maybe I have picked up on my father's paranoia. It's not anything worth reporting, especially when we have so little information to go on, from what I could find on the Breen." She groaned, and dropped her hands. Her tone was sour as she noted, "And I've apparently become obsessed, as well. Truly I am my father's daughter."

Bashir leaned forward. "This might be a long shot, Ziyal, but do you happen to know what a Breen looks like under the uniform?"

"You would have to ask Major Kira that, or my father," she answered, "As far as I know, they're the only two that have seen them in such a manner."

"You mentioned your first drawings," he offered quietly.

She nodded. "Mostly squares and rectangles, with long limbs that held sticks. Take from that what you may." Her dark eyes met his. "Frankly, this could all be nothing, and I'm leaning more towards that, now that I'm talking about it with you. I'm hoping it is just that, and I'll enjoy my time comparing sketches and writings with my new friend."

"Should I take this as a warning?" Bashir inquired.

Tora bit her lip for a moment, reminding him of her young age. When she spoke, she replied, "I'm not sure." She absent-mindedly fiddled with the strap of her shoulder bag, and changed the subject. "About Garak, you'll take care of him, won't you?"

Bashir nodded. "Always." She slowly smiled, and bowed her head in thanks before taking her leave. Julian watched her black ponytail bob away to be lost in the crowd.

Turning away, he stared out the window that faced toward the worm hole, currently devoid of traffic. His hand tightened on the safety rail once, and he let go.


End file.
